In Dreams
by yourmainsqueeze
Summary: Thoughts of Fuu make Mugen sad and introspective.


A/N: I apologize in advance. Idk where this came from…

He spends a lot of time contemplating hypotheticals. Possible pasts and possible futures that were not or will, likely, never be. Mostly, he keeps these musings to himself. He feels the melancholy of them doesn't align with the tough, aloof image he likes to show the world. Sometimes though, the drink, the company, and his mood all align in such a way that he cannot help but put voice to his thoughts.

"What if, when she walked away, we had followed her?"

He releases the idea as a scratchy whisper, gives it tentatively to the ink-black night and the red glow of the lanterns below. The whore beside him looks bored, but humors him.

"Who?"

"Fuu."

She quirks her brow, clearly unimpressed with his meaningless answer, but also intrigued by it.

"Fuu? Who's she, an old lover?"

He doesn't have the words for what Fuu was, or is, to him. His brain is too muddled with alcohol to parse out any comprehensible answer, so he just settles for a non-committal jerk of his head in response. Let the woman beside him discern its meaning; it will be wrong either way.

"Hmm…you'd probably have split eventually. Romance never lasts."

He gives another non-committal tilt of his head before he leans back and empties the contents of his cup. In the moment that he closes his eyes to embrace the scorch of the alcohol, he sees her back, small and alone, as it takes the path away from him. The burn in his eyes matches the one settling in his stomach.

"Yea, probably."

0.0

One conjectural daydream that he entertains with almost alarming devoutness is the what-if of encountering Fuu again, now. Their imagined reunions are innocent enough in the light of day. During his long meandering walks from one nowhere to the next, he imagines finding her working in a teahouse just like their first encounter. Because he knows about and respects the bullshit of cosmic symmetry and finding her again would have to be just as fortuitous as that first exchange.

She is always happy to see him again in these fantasies and, when nightfall creeps in around him, he likes to think about all the ways he could keep her happy.

He tries to be gentle as he presses the woman down onto the futon, but he's not really seeing her. He's not gentle at all as he yanks at her obi, but he can't help it. The opium has provided a pleasant high and he's too lost in thoughts of Fuu to consider the actual woman beneath him. He is eager to please, to show Fuu just how satisfying he can be.

He moves forward, planting kisses here and there, stopping occasionally to bite at the soft, creamy skin.

"Would she like this?"

His thrusts are jerky and uneven, but he finds his pleasure just the same. It is easy to imagine that it's Fuu beneath him. Afterwards he feels a little guilty and a little depraved, but not enough to keep him from doing it again.

0.0

The imaginary scenario he calls forth least is one where they never parted.

They stay in her father's house and make it a home. They walk through the sunflowers, and he kisses her neck thankful in the knowledge that this place did not become her grave.

He makes money as a sword-for-hire to local merchants, while she works at one of the teahouses on the mainland. He brings her small gifts at the end of long weeks, and she gifts him her smiles in return. They fall asleep to the sound of the sea breaking against the cliff where their home is perched.

He teaches his first son how to wield a sword before the kid can even walk straight, while Fuu watches with a silent frown as she airs their futons. She is annoyed at his earnestness, but he is satisfied that his son will never have to rely on anyone but himself for protection.

He sees them old in a home grown full of life and laughter. Their children never learn hunger, fear, or loneliness. They never know the sting of abandonment or self-doubt. They live and die in contentment, in a life that mirrors a dream.

Sitting alone on the beach as the sky shifts between day and night, Mugen watches a group of children running through the surf. He doesn't like this dream because it is the one that makes him the saddest. It is the fantasy that was closest to possibility, but also the farthest.

As the stars blink to life in the sky, he cannot help but to pose a single question to Fuu.

"Why didn't we just stay in that place?"


End file.
